Unconventional
by Phx
Summary: Alternate ending and tag to The Real Ghostbusters: Sam meets his biggest fan, unfortunately for him... Darkfic.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a tag to The Real Ghostbusters. Warning, people, this is dark. Darker than I usually write… It is not a tragedy though so there will be a 'happy' ending. The content is suggestive and while not graphic, there is no doubt what the intent is. Thanks to Red Hardy for being a brave beta. And thank you Trasan for humoring me._

_Snap has not been forgotten. I just needed to get this out of my head first._

_Spoilers for anything up to and including this episode._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own them or make money from them. _

**Unconventional**

**OR**

**When good fans, go bad**

**Chapter 1**

"Aw, man, hold on a second," Sam grumbled, halfway in the car. He pulled his long body back out and gave his brother an apologetic look, "I'll be right back."

"Dude?" Dean didn't look pissed, just curious.

"Bathroom," Sam offered as way of explanation. Not exactly a prude, he still appreciated an actual bathroom with real toilet paper and everything when they got the chance and not having to ask Dean to stop anytime in the next couple of hours would make them both happy. He was anxious to follow up the lead Becky gave them on the Colt.

Dean rolled his eyes but surprisingly enough, said nothing so Sam took it for what it was and hurried back inside the inn.

A few minutes later, and feeling much better, Sam hurried towards the front door.

"Sam?"

He stopped when he heard a woman's voice. "Sam Winchester?"

Turning he saw a petite blond wearing way too much lipstick and tried to think if he'd seen her earlier at the convention. There had been a couple of women here and she did look familiar.

"I'm sorry," he offered as she approached him. "Do I know you?"

"No," she admitted; her face lit up in a smile. "But I know you and your brother, Dean." Close enough now that he could smell her perfume, Sam instinctively backed up a step. "You_ are_ the _real_ Sam Winchester, aren't you?"

Sam laughed to hide his awkwardness. "Well, as much as anybody here is, right?"

"Oh no." She tipped her head to the side in consideration. "You _are_ the real McCoy. I saw you talking to Chuck a couple of times and overheard enough to know you're legit." She stood back, her eyes appraising him from head to toe. Her gaze lingered uncomfortable and hungry. "Oh wow," she breathed out, "and just look at you. The books? The pictures, they don't do you any justice." She licked her lips. "You are divine. Just so yummy."

Sam shifted, thoroughly uncomfortable now - Dean was the one who glowed under this sort of attention - and blushed. Muttering an "I have to be going," he tried to leave but she reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You're blushing - oh my God - that is just so sweet!"

"Uh, I'm sorry, lady, but you're way off base here, so if you really don't mind, I have to go. I can't leave my ride waiting - he might just take off without me."

The girl's eyes flickered to the right and Sam saw a large, square shouldered man in a nicely put together suit approach. His hopes for a getaway were dashed when he noticed the bulge in the man's coat pocket and the not so subtle threat the guy made as he raised an eyebrow and sighed. "My wife is a huge fan of yours Mr. Winchester. So let's just keep this all nice and friendly like and take a little walk together, somewhere more private where she can get to know you better." He lowered his voice so only Sam heard. "Like I said, she's a huge fan and I'd really hate to have to shoot you or something. I'm certain neither of us would like that."

Sam's eyes did a quick look around but there was no one near enough to help. So with a tight nod, he agreed.

They prodded the young hunter up the stairs and into a large room on the second floor. As he moved, he looked for some way to take control of the situation but the woman's husband was watchful, pulling the pistol out of his coat as soon as they were off the main floor. The gun had a silencer on it and Sam got the very distinct impression that this guy knew exactly what he was doing; this wasn't his first kidnapping. The bulky man was just too vigilant and that was going to make things a lot more difficult.

Sam knew his brother would come looking for him shortly but Dean walking in on this would not end well. There'd be no way his brother would expect something like this. However, with limited or - more realistically - no other options right now, the best Sam could do was try to humor his abductors and somehow stall them until his brother did arrive. Hopefully, Dean might provide the distraction Sam needed to get an upper hand in this. Whatever _this_ was…

Turning to face the couple as the guy locked the door, Sam focused on the woman. "What do you want with me?" he demanded.

"What do we want with you?" the woman practically cooed. "Why nothing, silly. We just want... _you._"

Sam frowned, his mind frantically trying to piece things together and then all the blood drained from his face. Lucifer. Of course! They wanted him for Lucifer. "Christo," he breathed out and waited for their eyes to roll back but nothing happened.

The woman laughed, it wasn't a nice sound. "Oh you big oaf, we aren't possessed." She turned to her husband and explained. "He thought we were demons. Christo? Really?" She was still laughing but the man with the gun didn't look as amused.

"My name is Heather, by the way, and this is my husband Guy," she made introductions like they were meeting at a luncheon or something. "And while Guy isn't so much – he hates to read, I'm your biggest fan."

Sam closed his eyes briefly and fought against the need to pinch the bridge of his nose. Right at this moment, he really, really wanted to just kill Chuck. _Biggest fan_, indeed.

"Look… _Heather_?" he tried to reason with her. "Supernatural isn't real. It's just a series of books. That guy? Sam Winchester?" he tried to sound convincing even as he disowned himself. "He isn't real. So, while this has been very entertaining, really, I really do need to go."

"You are just too cute," Heather looked amused. She laughed as if it was the funniest thing, "Nice try. Sam Winchester isn't real? Good one."

Tired of trying her to make her see reason, Sam sighed and asked again, "What do you want from me?"

"Only what any fan girl, and most of the fan guys would kill for." She chewed at her fingernail, feigning shyness, even as her eyes glistened with excitement. "I want you to take your shirt off."

------

Dean was tired of waiting. Sure, he was feeling rather charitable at the moment but as the anticipated few moments of delay turned into ten and then fifteen minutes, he found himself getting impatient.

"Oh, c'mon, Sam, it doesn't take a scuba diver that long to take a piss." Of course, it might have been something more heavy duty going on in the john but Dean was pretty sure it still shouldn't have taken this long. Although as he thought about his own difficulties after his last 'flight' on Angel Airlines, he decided maybe he should cut the kid a little more slack.

"Okay, dude, five more minutes and then I'm coming in…"

------

"What?" Sam stared at the woman in shock. "You've _got_ to be kidding me… I am _not_ taking off my shirt." He turned to her husband for help – surely the man didn't want him to start removing clothing, did he? But one look at the impassive face and dark eyes watching him convinced him he'd be receiving no help from there.

"You've got a point," the petite blond moved back towards Sam, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement, "it'd be more fun if I did it!" Then before Sam could stop her, Heather grabbed him again but this time he felt a jolt of pain shoot up his arm and electrify his body.

Bonelessly he dropped to the ground, convulsing from the shock.

_Taser_, his mind screamed before it totally shut down.

He wasn't out for very long but it was long enough for Guy to manhandle him onto the large queen sized, four-poster bed. Dazedly he tried to struggle but his muscles still twitched from the residual effects of being tasered leaving the hunter weak as a kitten.

Within moments, Guy had his wrists and ankles tightly bound leaving him lying spread-eagled on his back, vulnerable and trembling.

Sam shook his head as Heather moved onto the bed.

"No, don't!" he protested, his voice hoarse and strained. Catlike she crawled towards him, slowly pressing herself over… then she straightened, straddling his hips.

"Get off!" he grunted, trying to buck her off but Heather just tightened her legs around his hips and moaned,

"Oh yeah… baby."

Sam closed his eyes in sick horror as she rocked back, hating himself as his body started to respond.

"No… please…" he begged but the determined woman just pushed herself against him harder.

"You don't mean that, _Sammy_…" she purred as she lowered her face towards him and licked a stripe up his throat ending in a kiss against his jaw.

His heart pounded in his chest as Sam continued to struggle. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. He opened his mouth to yell for help, Guy and his gun be damned, but Heather was there, her mouth pressed over his, her tongue invading and forceful.

Sam just felt sick.

Standing to the side, Guy watched, something dark and promising burning black in his eyes.

Heather finally pulled away from Sam's mouth, both of them gasping for air, Sam's eyes burning.

"Oh, baby," she licked her lips and ran her fingers over his muscular chest, invading, probing, unwanted, then started to unbutton his shirt.

_Dean_, Sam opened his mouth to shout for his brother but Guy stopped him. Moving quickly, a thick hand, smelling of cigarette smoke and something muskier, shoved hard against Sam's mouth.

"No noise," the man warned, his eyes locked hard on Sam's. He seemed to enjoy the fear he saw there. "Next time you open your mouth for _anything_, it's going to be for me." Sam's eyes widened, no longer aware of anything Heather was doing, his terror fully focused on Guy.

Satisfied that Sam understood, the big man removed his hand but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the younger man's face.

Heather finally finished with the last button and then pouted as she realized Sam was wearing a white undershirt.

"Layers? How could I forget. You're a man of many layers, both figurative and otherwise." But then she grinned. "You really do make a girl work for it, don't you Sammy? Mind you, I don't mind a bit of _hard_ work."

_Oh, God, Dean, please_… but even as Sam prayed for his brother to come and stop this, he wondered, if he somehow deserved this.

It seemed kinda fitting, in a self-loathing way. The guy who was willing to sell his soul for revenge and started the apocalypse was about to be raped…

Heather took the tip of a knife and slowly slit up through his undershirt.

Guy placed his pistol on the near by night-stand and slowly started to unbutton his own shirt.

Suddenly Lucifer's voice was there, a caressing promise in the hunter's ear.

Just say yes, Sam, and I'll save you from this…

_Just say yes…_

_Say yes. _

------

Dean met Chuck and Becky coming out of the inn, his patience in waiting for Sam extended beyond thin. It'd been almost thirty minutes now. That was unhealthy regardless of the reason - okay, unless Sam had met a pretty woman or something. And then well thirty minutes was downright impressive.

"Hey, Dean," Becky greeted him with her unusual cheeriness; that was one chick who desperately needed to cut back on the caffeine. She glanced around him, "Where's Sam?"

"Well that takes the surprise out of my question," Dean smirked and then became serious as he looked at Chuck. "Guess that means you didn't see him inside, huh?"

Chuck looked back the way they'd come, he opened his mouth as if to say something then shut it again, but it was the way that the smaller man's face blanched and the sudden tightness around his eyes that Dean noticed.

"Chuck?" he growled, fully aware of how intimidating he sounded. But if the writer was holding back and it was about Sam, then how Dean sounded was the least of his worries.

"Uh," the man looked torn and the hunter didn't even try to understand. How the guy could live with himself when he had the knowledge to stop all this shit just by pulling either Winchester aside and being straight about things, was beyond Dean.

The gloves came off.

------

"So tell me, Sammy," Heather spoke as she slid back to sit on his legs and started to undo his belt buckle. "Is Madison really the last girl you slept with?"

Tears leaked down the side of Sam's face.

"You know," she continued conversationally as if she wasn't reaching into his pants. "There's a joke in the fandom that every woman you sleep with, dies…" Sam bit his lip to keep in the moan as her fingers brushed against him, "but I think that's a bit harsh. And even if it was true? Oh God, you're so worth the risk – just look at you." She stopped for a moment, her eyes drinking in his naked flesh. "You are just so beautiful like this."

"Heather – please… you don't want to do this," Sam choked out desperate to make this stop.

And she did… for a moment.

Still perched on his legs, the woman stared at him in confusion. "But I do," she insisted. "Don't you get it, Sammy? I'm the ultimate Mary Sue. Look at you, all tied down for me… I'm in total control," she leaned forward and raked her fingers down his chest, drawing a gasp of pain this time as she drew blood. "And then when I'm finished…" she glanced at Guy as the man stepped out of his pants and approached the bed, "I get to watch."

In the background, Lucifer kept promising salvation.

Say, yes, Sam –

_Just say yes. _

_------_

Dean had no idea what to expect when he kicked down the door, but this was not it. Chuck had tried to warn him, well once the hunter had terrified him enough into saying something, but until Dean actually saw it for himself, he really just had no idea just how bad things were going to be.

In a heartbeat he took it in; the images forever burned in his memory, a white-hot flame to his anger.

His brother – _his Sammy_ – was half naked and bound to a bed as a pretty blond straddled his hips and a man wearing only his underwear and an erection pulled back from what looked like a kiss.

But all Dean could truly focus on was how Sam's chest stuttered out each breath.

In fear.

And that was what truly set him off.

But before Dean could totally surrender himself fully to that rage, he had two people to kill– Sam whimpered, fucking _whimpered_ – and a little brother to take care of.

"HEY!" he bellowed and embraced the surge of fury. Forty years in hell had to be good for something –

And those sick bastards were about to find out for what.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Apparently there is one more chapter after this one. Thank you to everyone for their kind words and support of this rather dark story. Please heed the warnings on the first chapter and a special thank you to Trasan for encouraging me to post and Alaina for having the courage to read this. Even if she didn't get the blood lust she wanted :P_

**Unconventional**

**OR**

**When good fans, go bad**

Chapter 2

_Dean's here. Dean's here. Dean's here,_ Sam's mind chanted, the relief like an ice cold glass of water for his burning mind, but still those unwanted touches didn't move, just stilled.

But Lucifer was gone; the cajoling voice fleeing in the light of such strength.

Dean was here.

------

"Get the fuck off my brother, bitch," Dean raged at the woman, his handgun trained on the guy as he saw the other weapon lying on the night table behind the man.

The woman, a tiny thing with too much lipstick, pouted. "Dean?" She slowly slid off Sam, apparently smart enough to know Dean wouldn't be asking so nicely the second time. "Guess you got out of hell then, huh?"

"Something like that," he growled, motioning for them to get away from the bed as he moved towards it.

"D-Dean?" Sam's voice rasped out. The kid sounded terrible; Dean needed to get him out of here.

"S'okay, bro," he assured the younger man as he dropped a hand to the closest of Sam's bound wrists and started to work the knot. "I got this."

The man made a move towards the other gun but Dean crossed the distance between them and backhanded him with the gun. The pervert dropped like a ton of bricks as the woman screamed. The hunter fixed her with a deadly glare and she shut up.

Satisfied for a moment, Dean turned back to his brother and saw a knife lying on the mattress. Rolling his eyes at the stupidity of the bitch for not having grabbed it herself, Dean deftly snagged it and made quick work of his brother's bindings.

As soon as he was free, Sam shot up and was off the bed, one hand grabbing at the waist of his jeans and yanking them up as the other steadied him against the far wall. He was still breathing too fast, his face too pale. Blood red lipstick smeared Sam's face, neck and the painful looking scratches on the younger man's chest – it settled Dean's determination.

Forcing himself to turn his back on his brother, Dean steadied his aim on the woman and spoke over his shoulder; his voice gentled as he spoke to his obviously traumatized sibling. "Wait in the hall, Sammy. I'll be there in a minute." His tone hardened as locked eyes with the blond. "This won't take very long."

"Dean… no," Sam protested. "_Please._ They aren't worth this."

"You're right, they aren't," Dean easily agreed. "But you are. Outside, Sam. I mean it."

"Sam –wait, no," the woman called out, Dean's intent finally seeming to hit home. "This is all a silly mistake-"

"Silly?" Incredulity clung to the anger in Dean's voice. He knew Sam had just jerked without even looking back. "You call sexual assault? Attempted _rape_? _Silly_? Sam. Go. _Now._"

"No!" the blond tried again, "We didn't mean any harm. I just love Sam sooo much… I wanted the ultimate fan experience. I just had to have him."

"_Love_?" Dean stepped towards her in disbelief. "How can you love him? You don't even know him… Sam is a person, a human being. _Not_ an object, not just something you can force yourself on just because you want him. What about what Sam wants? Huh? What about that?" He flung a hand back towards his brother. "Did you even stop to ask him?"

The door behind them opened to a shamefaced Chuck.

"Get Sam out of here, Chuck," Dean growled, knowing the little prophet felt horrible about all this and would do anything Dean said to try to make it up. "Now." The conversation with this bitch was over.

Sam made some sort of protest but let Chuck shepherd him out of the room anyway.

It was only when the door closed safely, blocking his brother from witnessing this that Dean smiled. "Okay, bitches," he grinned, his eyes darkening with his own feral lust. "You've read about how pissed off I get when someone targets Sam… Now you're going to get to see it, up close. And personal…"

------

"Don't touch me!" Sam pushed Chuck away as the author closed the door separating him from his brother. His body was badly shaking, his nerves shot, but he shoved his own feelings aside, afraid now of what was going to happen to Dean. As much as he wanted Heather and Guy dead – oh God, he'd never felt so helpless before – he didn't want Dean to destroy himself killing them. He knew how much the older man was still haunted by those years in hell, and was afraid that doing this would open barely sealed wounds. No, Sam didn't want that. He'd rather die first.

Becky, waiting in the hallway, watched with wide eyes.

"Sam," Chuck tried to grab his arm again when Sam turned towards the room again.

Sam shook him off, knocking the smaller man back against the wall.

"Sam!" A horrified sounding Becky rushed towards them but Chuck warned her off with a shake of his head.

"It's okay," he told her.

The sound of muffled screaming in the room behind them set Sam off again. He had to get back in there –

Or…

Sam had an idea. He just hoped it worked.

------

Dean felt no remorse as he savagely tied Guy face down to the bed using the same ropes he had just cut Sam free from. Behind him Heather whimpered through her gag as she watched from the chair he'd forced her to sit in while he bound her first then turned his attention to her husband.

The idea that they teamed up to assault his brother sickened Dean and fired hatred through his hell-seared soul. Oh God, if he'd been any later… Dean didn't even want to think about it. No, it didn't happen. Or at least it didn't look like it happened… but he knew there were many other ways to hurt a man that were easier to hide.

Fury colored his moral code and he relished in the horrified look on the woman's face as he slammed the knife he'd found in the room, deep into the mattress next to her husband's face and pulled out his old, much bigger and wicked version.

Blood from her split lip stained the gag as she screamed something and Dean turned away from the man and stalked towards her, his voice low and venomous, the blade dangling deceptively loose in his grip. "I _always_ come for my brother," his voice was so low it was more a rumble than words. "_Everyone_ at this convention knows that much, except, it would seem, you…" The woman paled further, tears running the mascara down her face as Dean pressed the knife against her cheek. He drew blood. "But that's okay," his voice turned conversational as a deadly smirk twisted his lips. "I'm going to make sure it's a lesson you won't live to forget."

And then as he drew blood, Castiel was there.

"Dean."

"Go away, Cas," Dean growled the knife still biting Heather's skin, drinking in her blood.

"You can't do this."

"Oh yeah?" Dean snorted. "Just watch me."

The angel put a hand on the hunter's extended arm. "Dean," he tried again.

"Cas…" he growled the name in warning. "I need to do this for Sam." And for himself, but Dean didn't consider what he needed right now.

Dean could feel the intensity of the angel's gaze. "_Sam_ would not want you to do this."

And wasn't that a kick in the nuts because the angry young man knew that his celestial friend was right. _Sam_ would not want this at all. But what his brother wanted and needed were two different things.

"What your brother _needs _is you," Castiel answered as if he'd read Dean's thoughts, which he probably had. Heather watched, hopeful eyes on the angel, although she would have no idea who he was. "Not this."

"You don't understand," Dean grit out, his eyes firmly locked on the woman's.

"I understand far better than you may realize." There was true compassion in the angel's voice and Dean felt his resolve wavering. "So believe me when I say your brother needs _you_ more right now than he – than you – need this."

Dean swallowed hard, his desire for revenge beating heads with his pounding heart. It screamed at him to go to Sam, make sure Sam was okay. Make sure Sam _stayed_ okay.

"He didn't deserve this." The hunter finally met the angel's gaze. There was deep sadness in his friend's eyes.

"No," Castiel approved, "he did not."

And it helped. Dean could not say how but to hear an angel, albeit a fallen angel, admit how wrong this was, helped.

Slowly, he let his knife hand drop.

"What about them?" Dean asked, his eyes traveling between Heather to a still unconscious Guy. He couldn't just let them go –

Castiel met his dilemma with one of grim countenance. "Go," he instructed softly. "I will take care of them. You take care of Sam."

"Okay," Dean finally agreed but before he could walk away he looked at Heather one more time. Leaned in so close that she could count the freckles on his nose and whispered. "I will make sure he forgets you," then straightened up, turned away from her and left the room. He would never ask Castiel what he did or what happened after he was gone. Dean honestly did not want to know.

He had a little brother to check on.

------

"_I'm sorry."_

So intent on what might be going on behind the closed door, Sam startled when Chuck spoke. He'd forgotten that Chuck and Becky were still here.

Brow furrowed, the hunter stared at the other man, his agitated mind trying to focus on the writer. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, you know for -" Chuck grimaced and waved a hand at Sam, "-that."

The hunter's eyes automatically tracked the movement, and looked down… at himself. His coat and unbuttoned shirt hung open; his bare chest peeked out between the ruined folds of his undershirt, traces of blood tickling the edges. He snaked a shaking hand through the material and grasped at it, pulling the pieces together; covering up.

Comprehension melted Sam's face, renewed horror threaded his veins. "What?" his throat heaved out the word. Surely, he had to be wrong –

It couldn't be –

He lifted his eyes back to the prophet.

_Chuck wouldn't have_ –

"Chuck?" Becky's voice was like a buzz in his ear; it made his skin crawl. "What's going on?" But Chuck didn't answer; he was completely focused on Sam.

"I didn't really realize – well I knew, sorta, but I didn't… until Dean - Oh Jesus, man." The profit shifted uncomfortably in front of him as Sam just stared. "It's not right, I know but… what was I supposed to do?"

The hunter saw the blossoming bruise on Chuck's stubbled jaw. "You… _knew_?" he managed. "And?" His voice was starting to crack. There was no noise coming from the room now and as desperate as he was to know what was happening and to make sure Dean was okay, Sam couldn't get past this. "And, you were _okay_ with it? Okay that… I was going to be-"

He couldn't say it.

Sam couldn't get the word out.

Around him the hallway was starting to blur, the air getting harder to breathe.

"No, man, no!" Chuck tried to refute but Sam wasn't listening. His mind was spinning, fracturing on the idea that this person – this man that Sam might have called a 'friend' only an hour ago – had known what was going to happen to him and still let it happen.

"But," struggling, Sam turned towards Becky gesturing helplessly with his free hand. "But she brought us here… and you knew what was going to happen?" He remembered Chuck's apology only yesterday after the Winchesters had shown up. Sam had thought it was for what they were about to see, but now he wasn't so sure. Chuck _knew_.

Self-loathing raised its head again. "You think I deserved this," he spoke slowly, like someone working hard to soften a tough piece of meat before swallowing. "You told me before that I had to know that the blood thing was wrong…" Chuck was shaking his head but Sam was just shaking. "You think I deserved this? That I should be punished?"

"No. No," the smaller man tried to interject again. "Sam, you're not listen-"

"_Dean_ made you talk," Sam pointed towards Chuck's bruise. Dean had obviously somehow figured out that Chuck knew something and _convinced_ the man to talk; with his usual tack and threat of violence of course. "You didn't come up here on your own to stop this… You were just going to let them rape me -" Bile rose in the back of Sam's throat.

Oh God, he'd said it.

And before he could see the look of revulsion on their faces, Sam turned and bolted down the hall. Becky called after him but he kept running.

Dean would be just fine.

Dean had an angel with him and Castiel wouldn't let his brother do anything stupid.

But Sam?

_Sam's skin burned from unwanted touch. His mouth knew the taste of another man._

Sam had Lucifer.

So he just kept on running.

------

Dean yanked open the door and stepped into the hallway. He looked around then settled on Chuck. There wasn't anything friendly in the gaze or tone as he just barked out, "Where's Sam?"

Chuck swallowed hard and offered a meek and apologetic smile. "Uh, yeah, about Sam…" he shifted uncomfortably then just blurted out. "I think I made a horrible mistake…"

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the wonderful comments and support for this story. Sorry for the delay but here is the next chapter. I hope you like and will comment on it. There will be one more chapter after this one. Special thanks to Sheila and Alaina :) They have been brave enough to read and advise on this.**

**Unconventional**

**OR**

**When good fans, go bad**

**Chapter 3**

Sam had no idea where he was going once he got outside. He started to bolt wildly past a row of Impalas, then stopped, his eyes wide and frantic as they darted around the parking lot. The police were still talking to witnesses and other convention goers were still gathered in small groups laughing and saying their good-byes. It made Sam's skin crawl.

And then his eyes lit on one particular car. Dusty and more worn then her siblings, his heart ached as he moved towards it, his fingers reaching searchingly for the door handle.

The car was locked and he almost sobbed until rationale overrode and he pulled out his own set of keys. A heartbeat later he was slipping into the front passenger seat, hunching his shoulders and sliding down as far as he could go; making himself as small as possible, as unnoticeable as he could. Sam closed his eyes and tried to keep from throwing up.

It never occurred to him that Dean wouldn't find him quickly, he just hoped quickly was quick enough.

-------

Dean was furious as he stormed out of the inn and down the front stairs; furious and worried. He focused that anger on finding his brother, his every sense tingling, all instinct forced forward. Scanning as he moved, lethal and single minded, Dean was in a dangerous zone: his brother had been hurt and he needed to find him. Heaven help any idiot who got in the way.

Stalking past the few convention stragglers, the hunter deftly avoided the police as he looked for any indication of which way Sam had gone. And then he stopped a few feet past the front of his car.

Something hummed, visceral and familiar, raising goose bumps across his skin, tugging hard at his soul. Slowly Dean turned, his eyes grazing the metal, skimming glass, his heart pounding hard.

Sam?

Head cocked to the side, Dean cautiously approached the Impala, afraid the shadow he saw would simply disappear if it knew it'd been seen until finally, he let out relieved breath.

Sam.

His brother was in the car.

Crunched down, impossibly small, but in the car.

Safe.

Dean paused for a moment, uncertain, not really sure what Sam would want but then the hurting younger man lifted his head. Anguished hazel locked with concerned green and Dean knew exactly what to do.

It was so clear, it actually hurt.

He needed to get his brother the hell away from here.

Moving around to the driver's side, Dean unlocked the car door and yanked it open. He slid into his seat and cast his brother an appraising look as he pulled the heavy door closed. The kid looked like shit so he didn't ask the obvious because he already knew the answer. Sam would say he was fine when he obviously wasn't, so Dean skipped the pleasantry. "Where to?" he asked instead, letting his concern bleed into his face. Sam read him better than any book.

"Does it matter?" came the quiet reply. "Just somewhere else."

"Somewhere else I can do," Dean said easily as he started the car and pulled away from the inn. Beside him Sam let out a shaky little sigh but didn't say anything so Dean took the cue, kept the music off and just drove. He had no idea where they were going and decided to just play it by ear, trusting that Sam would let him know when he was ready to stop.

And the kid did. About an hour later when he suddenly turned white as a sheet, grabbed at the car door and tried to get out.

Dean was doing about 60 mph at the time.

------

Sam wasn't thinking. He just stared blindly through the front windshield as his brother skillfully maneuvered the black beast away from the inn. Every few moments Dean glanced at him and the younger man knew his brother was worried. He wished he could convince Dean that he was fine but didn't have the energy to back the words so he sat quietly and tried not to think instead.

It worked pretty good until his eyes eventually slid closed, weighed down by exhaustion and buffered by his brother being near. Sam drifted off.

But there was no rest for him as behind the dark veil of sleep his tormentors waited…

Unwanted fingers caressed Sam's bare skin promising savage destruction with their lust. Hot whispers bit at his ear and chewed new fear under the guise of affection. His hips were held down, her slight weight pinning him as she rocked hard and cried out in her ecstasy –

But it was _him_ that threw terror through the hunter and sent him scrambling for consciousness, his stomach constricting, his blood curdling. Painful and lurching, Sam tore at the car door.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was loud and panicked as the car skidded sideways and bucked as it tried to stop.

A hard grip on his arm was the only thing that kept Sam inside as he got the door open –

And then the car stopped and Sam was tumbling out onto cold gravel. The little rocks ripped at his hands and scuffed through the knees of his jeans but Sam didn't care as he rolled up onto them then vomited hard.

Tears streaked his face as he continued to retch, his body shaking hard, his brothers voice a blur in the background. He only knew Dean must have grabbed him when Sam's strength would have dropped him face first into the mess but instead he was gently but strongly rolled away and down onto his side.

He saw Dean's knees as his brother crouched down in front of him but closed his eyes before he could see his face. Sam didn't want to see the emotion that would be there, having nothing left to deal with either his own or his brothers'. And thankfully Dean seemed to understand because, except for a tightening of the now noticeable grip on his shoulder, the older hunter didn't say anything. He just let Sam lay there, heaving and shaking until the other man could breathe again.

And then Dean sighed, "You know, bro," he kept his voice soft, "I was thinking now might be a good time to stop for the night… That is unless you're partial to that spot, and then, well, I suppose it's not too cold to camp."

Sam opened his eyes and moved his head so he could see his brother's face. Dean looked tired, concerned… and cold. Sometime during Sam's emotional vomit-fest, the other man had slipped out of his jacket and it was now covering Sam. His eyes burned as that simple gesture reminded him of how much he was loved… and how much he didn't deserve it.

Nothing had happened. Sure Heather and Gus certainly had intent and there'd been some uncomfortable moments for certain but Dean had gotten there before anything could really happen and yet here was Sam, puking and shivering on the side of the road like something had happened. God, and he'd thought it was impossible to hate himself any more than he already did.

Slowly forcing himself up, Sam shook his head. "You hate camping," he reminded his brother before he carefully gave Dean his jacket back and wiped his arm across his mouth. Instantly a bottle of water was offered and he gratefully used it to wash out the bad taste in his mouth and then swallow some down.

"Hey," Dean feigned indignation. "I've pitched a tent or two on occasion."

Sam's mouth twitched, wondering if his brother had set himself up so nicely on purpose. "Trouser tents don't count, bro." Although knowing Dean, as the older man sputtered over a comeback and failed, probably not.

Settling on a glare instead, Dean just pointed towards the car, "Just – get in the car," then stopped him before Sam could do more then open the door. His face turned serious, a hint of real fear in his eyes, "Do me one favor though?" He actually waited for Sam to nod. "No more trying to jump out of moving cars okay? I'm getting too old for that kind of shit."

Realizing only now what he'd done, Sam blushed slightly and reached up to scratch self-consciously at the back of his neck, his other hand keeping his jacket clutched closed. "Uh, yeah, sure. Sorry for that."

"Don't apologize for it," Dean watched him closely. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Okay," Sam nodded then got in the car.

------

Dean hunched forward on the bed of the small motel room he'd rented for the night. He hung his head and scrubbed a hand across his face in weary agitation, the little stunt his brother had pulled trying to get out of the car, taking years off his life. Watching Sam falling out of the door, as he tried desperately to stop the car in time was not something Dean ever wanted to see repeated. Scratch that. This whole day was something he'd prefer to never repeat again.

His emotions were boiled; bubbling from raw fury at the people who had attacked his brother to a more simmering anger at Chuck for not warning them (not that the guy had ever given them a heads up before but still…). Quiet concern for Sam poached in conflict and stewed with repulsion for the entire situation.

So yea, boiled pretty much summed it up.

But even worse was the strangling feelings of helplessness that had him unsure how to deal with this, how to help his brother. Sam insisted he was fine and had kept that mantra up right until he disappeared behind the closed bathroom door a few minutes ago. But Dean knew different.

Sam was anything but okay.

How could he be?

Sam was a Winchester and Winchesters were proud, strong, stubborn sonsabitches laced with a dangerous streak of defiance and finished off with a cocky self-confidence that boasted bravado on the darkest of nights. Compounded by Sam's own special need for independence and desire to be seen as an equal to his larger than life father and brother, and there was just no way in hell that Sam could be fine.

_Dean_ wasn't fine and he wasn't even the one who'd been attacked.

One thing Dean did know was that he had to talk to his brother about something Chuck had babbled on about just moments before Dean's fist found the little prophet's face for the second time that day. And that was Sam's apparent belief that Chuck thought he somehow deserved this.

Knowing his over-thinking, oversized little brother, Sam had probably globalized the sentiment, and that was definitely something Dean needed to scrub out of the kid's brain. No-one, and especially not his brother deserved something like that.

"_Hey, Dean_?"

Dean glanced at the bathroom, the sound of his brother's muffled voice over the sound of the shower drawing him out of his thoughts. He moved towards the door so he could hear Sam better. "Yeah?"

"_Do we have any more mouth-wash?" _

The older man frowned. He was pretty sure there'd been an almost full bottle in the first aid kit. Out of habit, the kit was one of the first things unloaded into any new room and always placed in the bathroom for easy access and sometimes privacy. "Did you check the kit?" he yelled through the door.

He heard his brother moving around on the other side, the sound of the water being turned off. "_What?_"

"I said," Dean repeated himself a bit more loudly and clearly, "Did you check the first aid kit?"

"_Uh, yeah,"_ Sam sounded hesitant and Dean could almost see the sheepish look on his brother's face. "_It's, uh, empty."_

"Empty?" Dean opened his mouth to say more but then something clicked and he let out a heavy sigh instead and moved towards his own duffle bag. "Hold on a sec," he called out quickly riffling through laundry and into his own personal shaving kit. He pulled out an unopened bottle and stared at it for a moment hoping to God that Sam wasn't drinking the stuff.

The bathroom door squeaked open and steam billowed out as Sam poked his head around it to see what Dean was doing. His dark hair was wet and plastered against his face and Dean did a double take at just how red that face was. "Oh good, you got one," Sam was already reaching for the bottle but Dean didn't move right away, his eyes were transfixed by the deep flush of his brother's skin and the darkening line of bruises on his collar bone. Bites?

Sam followed his line of vision, then self-consciously backed up just enough to hide his upper body, his long fingers curled tightly around the edge of the wood, ready to slam the door shut in a hasty retreat. Dean had already seen the scratches but the unwanted hickies were new.

"Dean?"

The uncertainty in the younger hunter's voice had Dean shaking his head and forcing a smile as he moved towards the bathroom, the bottle of mouthwash held out. "Yeah, got some." Sam almost snatched the bottle in his eagerness and Dean only got the barest hint of a thankful smile before Sam disappeared back into the steam and pretty much slammed the door.

_Yeah_, Dean thought with heavy sarcasm. _You_ _are just fine._

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_You guys have been so awesome with your reviews that I've decided to post the fourth and final chapter of this story. Thank you for your awesome support as I delved into the dark side of this sensitive topic._

**Unconventional**

**OR**

**When good fans, go bad**

**Chapter 4**

Water scalded as Sam stood underneath the stinging shower for the second time since locking himself away in the bathroom, the acrid taste of mouthwash burning the back of his throat. His tongue was numb and he gagged in water and spit it out wondering if Dean had another bottle because the first two hadn't been enough to flush away the intrusion.

He scrubbed at his body, his eyes closed, his breathing harsh and Heather waited for him there…

_So pretty, Sammy, she nipped her way along his chest. So very pretty._

His skin itched with the memories of their touch, their dark promises.

_I'm going to enjoy this, a husky voice whispered against his cheek, calloused hands slipped across his hip._

Sam scratched at his skin until he drew blood.

_The touch moved lower, a rough grip squeezed him tight._

"No," Sam grit out, scrubbing harder at his body. "No."

"_Sam?"_ Dean's voice and heavy pounding startled him and Sam whirled around, eyes wide open, sucking in air. _"You done in there yet?"_

For a moment the hurting hunter just stared at the closed shower curtain and then as reality seeped through, he tried to control his breathing and reached out a shaky hand to push the curtain open.

"_Sammy?"_ The pounding grew louder and Sam knew his brother would be coming in if he didn't somehow pull it together and answer him.

"I'm-" Sam cleared his throat and tried again even as a shaky hand reached to turn off the water. "-I'm fine." Maybe saying it would make it so.

Pushing the curtain out of the way, Sam stepped onto a dry towel, grabbed another one to hastily tie around his waist and one to quickly dry his hair. He left that one hanging around his neck – it covered up the worst of the bruises – and reached for the bathroom door. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that nothing happened, then pulled the door open.

Dean's hand had been raised to pound again but he let it drop and stepped back when he saw his brother. Sam saw the concern burning bright in the older man's eyes and quickly dropped his gaze. Shame burned his face and for the first time he wished it wasn't Dean who'd found him like that.

Oh God, what his brother must think.

"I'm okay," he mumbled as he moved past his brother towards the beds. He saw that Dean had brought in the duffle bags and his was on the bed furthest away from the door. Old habits die hard, he figured, as he used one hand to unzip the bag and rummage inside for clean clothes as the other kept the towel around his neck tightly clasped together. No need for a repeat of Dean's earlier reaction to seeing the marks on Sam's body.

Dean followed and Sam could feel his brother's gaze burning into his back. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore it but as he finally found something to wear, he couldn't ignore it anymore. "Please… Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Dean sounded genuinely confused.

"Watch me like I'm going to freak out or something." Maneuvering under the towel, Sam slipped into underwear then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on warm socks. His feet were cold.

"That's not what I'm watching for."

Sam paused, one sock halfway on, he chewed his tender bottom lip for a moment then chanced a glance up. Dean was leaning against the bureau, his arms folded across his chest in casual observation. His face unreadable but his eyes were warm. He continued on before Sam had to ask.

"I'm just wondering how the hell you do it."

"Do what?" Sam asked, his head once again bent over his task. Putting on his socks seemed harder then usual as he willed his hands not to shake.

"Keep from losing it. Man, me and Dad must have done a hell of a better job raising you then we ever gave ourselves credit it."

"You," Sam corrected, then winced when he realized he'd said the word out loud.

"Me? What about me?"

Sam's cheeks blushed for a new reason now. He stood up and turned his back on his brother as he started to work on a pair of comfortable sleep pants. "You did the raising, mostly."

Silence met his comment and Sam looked across at his brother as he tossed the towel he'd had wrapped around his waist towards the open bathroom door. Dean looked surprise by the justification and for some reason Sam found that mildly amusing. Surely Dean wasn't that oblivious to the role he'd played in Sam's life was he? But then again – Sam reached for a black t-shirt – Dean could be downright stupid when it came to things like that. Things like how important the big jerk was to him.

"Mr. Mom, really," Sam added to edge out the awkwardness of his admission.

It worked.

Dean huffed out a snort. "And if you ever call me that again, I will have to hurt you. Bad."

Sam shrugged as he got rid of the other towel and sunk down wearily on the edge of his bed. The skin on his wrists tingled and he rubbed absently at them and glanced longingly towards the bathroom again. Maybe another shower would help.

Dean moved towards the beds and sat down on the edge of his own bed and faced Sam. "Sam-" he started.

Sam cut him off. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Tough shit." The hardness in Dean's voice caught him by surprise. "I do." Like a shot, Sam was off the bed but his brother caught him before he could go any further, instantly letting go of Sam's arm when the younger man's eyes widened in fear. Dean's tone softened. "You didn't deserve this. Whatever else you're thinking, you have to know that."

Now it was Sam's turn to huff as he turned on his brother. "Oh don't I? I let Lucifer out, Dean. Me! I broke the final seal! All because I was a selfish bastard... because I thought I knew what the hell I was doing. Because-"

"Stop it, Sam." Dean moved into Sam's personal space.

"Dean…" Sam deflated. He was too tired for this.

"Sammy, just listen to me." Dean's eyes were green with sincerity and the hurting hunter found himself doing just that, unable to tear his own liquid gaze away from his brother's. "You did not deserve this. Even Chuck – hold on, let me finish," Dean put his hand up to stop the immediate argument from Sam. "Even Chuck didn't think so. Why the hell he didn't say anything sooner is something he's going to have to live with… But I can promise you this. Him not saying anything had nothing - you hear me? - _nothing_ to do with him thinking it was okay."

"But," Sam was confused. His brow furrowed and he tilted his head to one side. "I don't understand then…" Dean's touch was gentler this time, as Sam felt himself being maneuvered back to his bed. He sat down still shaking his head. "Why?"

"Why, what?" Dean sat beside him and leaned forward so he could see Sam's face. "Why didn't Chuck say anything? Well the man's a coward. It's something he has to work on but like I said, it's also something he has to live with… Why'd this happen to you? I dunno, man, I really don't know. Some people are just sick and twisted, I guess. Not like we haven't seen that before."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes as he tried to digest what Dean was saying. He wasn't sure he could accept his brother's absolution of his culpability. Everything happened for a reason, right? But if _Dean_ was saying that this was something Sam didn't deserve, well… his brother's thoughts on things did carry a lot of weight but Dean didn't know everything yet.

"Lucifer was there," Sam blurted the words out, not wanting there to be any more secrets between them but even more importantly, just wanting Dean to know. "He kept offering me a way out." Dean was quiet beside him. "Kept telling me to just say yes, _just say, yes, Sam, just say yes_… and oh, God, Dean, I really wanted to, I wanted to so badly!"

"Sam…"

"Especially when the guy… when he… when he…" Sam started to shake hard, his words stammered between harsh pants, and then he was right back there. Once again tied spread-eagled and vulnerable on the bed.

_Large hands were on his face, forcing his mouth open, wide-open –_

_Sam fought, he tried to shake loose but the man was too strong and easily turned Sam's head to the side –_

_Such a pretty mouth, Guy cooed, his eyes black with lust, such a very pretty mouth –_

_Heather slammed herself against him, she goaded his attacker on –_

And then Dean was pushing Sam's head between his knees. "Breathe, Sam, c'mon, bro, just breathe." Sam's body continued to shake as he heaved in air and fought to calm down. To remember he was okay and that Dean _had_ gotten there. That it was over. "You're okay, bro, you're okay." Slowly _Dean_ started to smother the fear like a blanket on a fire as his words continued, unbroken in compassion and conviction. "That's it, Sammy, just like that… nice deep breaths. Nice and slow. No twisted bitches here, bro, I promise, just you and me, just like always."

Sam could finally feel his brother's strong grip on his shoulders and it took him a moment to realize that Dean was now crouched down in front of him, keeping Sam from face planting on the carpet. Strong fingers convulsed gently against the muscles they gripped, a tactile balm, as the shaking slowly eased off and Sam was now just bone-weary with exhaustion. He sagged forward knowing Dean would be right there and closed his eyes when his forehead met warm, breathing muscle. Sam could just imagine the spectacle they made but didn't have anything left to care with.

And then his skin started to itch again. He opened his eyes and tipped his gaze towards the bathroom door again as his tongue scrubbed over his teeth. He needed more mouthwash-

"No, Sam," Dean's voice was a rumble against Sam's forehead and it was as if the older man knew exactly what he was thinking. "You're clean enough."

Hot tears prickled his eyes but Sam blinked them back. "Am I, Dean? Really?" His voice sounded small and lost, even to him.

The arms gripping his tugged him forward, and slipped around his back pulling Sam into a true hug. Then the arms tightened.

Dean's voice was husky as he answered, "Really. And I'm so proud of you, kid… so damn proud."

"Proud?" The word was slurred as Sam's eyes slipped close, relieved by his brother's words.

"Yes, proud," Dean's words comforted. "Lucifer was there but you still said no – through all of it… you still said no."

"S'cause," Sam was surprised by his own admittance, "I just knew you'd come." Even after everything, he still trusted his brother to save him. He might not have consciously realized it at the time but it was the backbone of his defiance. What kept him from giving in.

"Always, Sammy," those arms pulled him closer. "Always…"

And with that promise, Sam finally let himself rest.

Heather and Guy, or even Lucifer himself, might be waiting for him in the darkness… but so was Dean, and a brother's love would always trump a brother's fear.

And that went both ways.

**The End**


End file.
